Until Now
by Pretty Persistent
Summary: /'Til now, I always got by on my own./ Puck/Emma. Future fic.


**Title: **Until Now

**Rating: **T

**Pairing: **Puck/Emma

**Soundtrack: **"In My Stride" - Oh Mercy

**A/N: This is my new favorite crack ship, so I could not resist writing some! I hope you guys enjoy this. Also, a special thanks to Permanent Rose, for motivating me so much, throughout the process of this fic!**

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* * *

**HAPPY 40th BIRTHDAY, EMMA!

You stare at the banner, eyes wide as ever. Really, you're not sure which has you more shocked—the surprise party, or the fact that you just turned forty.

Amongst all the 'over the hill' party favors, it's not really the age factor that has you caught so off guard. Age is inevitable, and you have accepted that. It's the fact that you have reached this milestone, alone.

You've been single for a while, now, and you're starting to despise the fact that you have grown so accustomed to this lifestyle, again.

You had lost your chance with Will, after a two year relationship with Carl Howell, your ex-boyfriend, and now, ex-dentist. That had ended, right about the same time all the original New Directions members graduated and Will left McKinley to co-direct Vocal Adrenaline, with Shelby Corcoran, whom he is now married to, with three kids.

That's not really the issue, though. A long time ago, you realized that Will was no longer the man you fell in love with, and probably never had been. After all, you ended up in a solid, healthy two year relationship that ended mutually.

The fact of the matter is, you feel yourself running out of options—and you don't want to spend the rest of your life alone. At your age, men are either married, or looking for someone twenty years younger.

Your best friend threw the party, of course. Serena Katz was Will's replacement, as Spanish teacher. She is actually Hispanic, and very exotic and wild, at that. She is ten years younger than you, and all the more fun, but she made you live a little more, right when you needed it most. Between her and Carl, you already prefer your thirties, to your forties.

It's at a hall, because she knew you would like it better, that way. After the first countless number of times you were dragged to the bars, you eventually started warming up to them. But even still, you would rather have the open bar, here, where your party is private and you are free to do whatever you please.

Ten years ago, it would have been awkward. Who would have planned something like this, even? Will? Five people would have showed up, you figured. Maybe two of them would talk, no one would drink, and everyone would leave by nine.

But now, you have friends. Mostly through Serena, as well as some staff members you grew close to, but your life has changed, considerably. You think it's for the better, but something still seems missing.

The hall is filled. You finally snap out of your shock and smile, widely. Almost the entire McKinley staff department is there, as well as all yours and Serena's mutual friends.

Of course, there are a group of students who have only recently graduated, within the past several years. When Will left for Carmel High, Principal Figgins threatened to shut down glee club. You took it over, just for a couple years, until the school finally hired a music teacher. You had no idea what you were doing, but you knew what glee meant to the kids and how well it was doing. You would not have been able to stand seeing it end. They all hug you, and you think back to when Serena and these kids entered your life, right as Carl and Will both left it. They never even gave you the chance to be sad.

You're pretty sure you've greeted everyone, when you spot a group of attractive young people, all huddled together. Your face lights up, and you're beaming, by the time the original members of New Directions are smiling back at you. It makes you feel a little guilty, but you think you are happier to see them, than you were seeing the kids you coached. They were, in fact, the ones who started it all.

Rachel, Finn, Tina, Santana, Kurt, and Puck are there. They inform you that Quinn and Mercedes are on a road trip, Mike is in a touring dance company, and no one could get a hold of Matt or Artie. Even if they aren't all there, it means so much to you that they thought to come.

Rachel goes on and on about her new job as a vocal coach, at a local community theatre. She cannot stop talking about how happy she is to see everyone, and how you all must get together, more often. As much as you love her, you agree, even if it's only to give the others a chance to get a word in.

Finn sheepishly shows you pictures of his wife and kids, while Kurt gushes over the dress you're wearing. Santana let's you know that Brittany got a job offer and had to move out to California, but she is still trying to sell their house, in Columbus. You were never overly close to her or Tina, but you know how much glee club meant to the both of them.

Puck stays in the background, though. He only smiles and wishes you a happy birthday. You smile back, holding his gaze, for a moment, and you can't help but think that his actions seemed a lot more meaningful than they really were.

Everyone eventually dissipates, enjoying the party. You spend a long time at a table with the kids from your two years of coaching. But by the time Serena brings you a third drink, you're feeling a little awkward. You still see them as your students. It's bad enough that you're wearing such a low-cut dress in front of them. You finish the drink and decide to take a trip to the bar.

Serena and the rest of your friends are pulling you out on the dance floor. With a few drinks in your system, you find yourself throwing your hands in the air, sloppily dancing between your friends. Serena has absolutely everyone spanking you, because it is your birthday, after all. You blush every time, but you can't help laughing every time, too.

You bounce back and forth between the dance floor and the bar a few times, before you notice that Puck hasn't moved from his spot on the wall, next to the bar, the entire time. He still appears to be on the same drink, though, while you're ordering your… fifth? Maybe sixth. You lost track.

"Why aren't you at the New Directions table?" you shout to him, above the pounding bass of the DJ.

"I like being able to see everything," he says, with such a wide smirk on his face.

Your smile is forced—twisted, even—because you're not really sure what he means. But you leave it at that and retreat to the dance floor, drink in hand. A little of the liquid sloshes over the side of your cup and onto your leg, but it doesn't bother you as much as it used to. Only out of the corner of your eye do you see the surprised look on his face.

After a while, you've danced off most of your buzz and have worked up a sweat. You decide it's time for a breather, and escape to the bathroom to freshen up. Once you're done and standing in the lobby, you realize you're not ready to go back in just yet, so you sit down in a comfy looking red chair. That's when you notice that he's sitting in another chair on the other side of a tall, potted plant.

Puck shifts his chair, without standing, so that there's no longer a visual obstruction. He grins, momentarily, before speaking, and you start to feel uncomfortable.

"Decided to skip out on your own party, huh?" he finally says. His face is smug, but his eyes are soft, and you find yourself unable to look away.

"No, no," you stutter. "I, um, just needed a break. Some air, really."

"Yeah, me too. It was… hot, in there,"

The way he says 'hot,' has your face feeling just that. You're starting to feel something you shouldn't, but it's been so long since you have, and you're just… You snap yourself out of it. He is—was—your student, after all. "I can't believe you guys all came," you tell him, trying to remind yourself of that fact.

"Glee meant everything to us. And with Mr. Schue leaving and Principal Figgins threatening to shut it down, we all felt kind of…" he pauses and looks away from you. But you keep your head tilted towards him, focusing on his words. "It was kind of like you were there for us, even though we were already gone."

Your eyes grow wide with appreciation. It's not like you're winning any 'Guidance Counselor of the Year' awards. It doesn't surprise you that you're not affecting your students until they're no longer in high school. But at least it's something.

You don't know what brings you to do it. It's like some impulse you had that you were unaware of the entire time. But suddenly, you find your hand on his leg, skimming up and down his thigh, with your fingers.

He grabs your hand and leans over. For a moment, you're terrified, thinking he's going to kiss you right there, in the middle of the lobby. But he's standing up and pulling you with him and that's when both of your eyes land on the open janitor's closet.

You practically run to it and begin pulling clothes off of each other as soon as you're inside. He's fast, but you beat him, because he just can't quite figure out the buttons on your dress. His hot, wet lips cover every inch of your neck, causing you to moan, because he's taking _forever_. You wish he could just rip the thing off of you, but you'll have to return to the party with something to wear.

"Is this… too dirty for you?" he mumbles into your lips.

You're not quite sure if he's referring to the closet, or… something else. "There's… there's cleaning supplies everywhere…" You struggle to get the words out, because he's forcing his tongue through your lips every time you open your mouth. "So it's fine." It's not a very good rationalization, but you need something to justify you putting aside all your issues, just so you can have this.

As soon as you find enough room, he takes you, right then and there. Well, physically he takes you, but you know you've got him. He's rough and hard and he's _slamming_ you against the door. But above all that, you can feel how desperate he is.

When you come, you scream, but not once do you utter his name, because it's not like you'd know what to call him in this situation, anyway.

It's not long, before you're smoothing out your dress and hair. You inform Puck that you shouldn't both go back at the same time, especially since the flushed tone of your skin just will not go away. He lets you go first, as it's more imperative for you to return to the party.

No one noticed you were gone. But then again, you hadn't been missing for very long. You get yourself another drink—just to cool down, of course—and join the New Directions table. One by one, everyone but Rachel politely excuses themselves, seizing the opportunity to escape the girl who rambles even more with a bit of alcohol in her.

You can't bring yourself to ditch someone as sweet as Rachel, so you attempt to take advantage of the situation. "So, any special guy in your life, Rachel?" you ask, sounding like an estranged Aunt at a family reunion.

"Not so much, at the moment. I'm still waiting for the perfect man," she says, and in her youth, you know she still believes that person exists.

"So, um, Finn's married… What about the rest of you guys?" You know that's all you need to ask to get her talking about everybody.

"Well, Quinn and Mercedes are enjoying being young and single. Tina's got a boyfriend. Kurt isn't engaged _yet_, but we all think he and Ken are going to elope, any day now. Mike's single. We hear Matt's married and Artie's engaged, but no one is sure about Artie, really. Oh, and Santana and Brittany have been together since we graduated, but that was always a given."

Despite the fact that she did not even take a breath, the entire time, you're still forced to prod, further.

"Oh, so… What about, um, Puck, then?" You don't even know why you're inquiring. You suppose you're over being involved with married men, but that's hardly a possibility, so you can't use morality as an excuse. All your morals went out the window, tonight, anyway.

"Oh, you know Puck. He'll never settle down. Even at his age, now, he's still chasing after cougars…

No, you don't really _know _Puck. But he thinks of you as a cougar, and for some reason, you cannot stop laughing. Rachel asks you what is so funny, but you just shake your head and excuse yourself to go get another drink.

By the end of the night, Serena is holding you up in the lobby, while you say goodbye to your guests. Your brief rendezvous with a certain younger man is all but forgotten. It doesn't even phase you, when you see Puck and Rachel standing by the janitor's closet.

* * *

You're not sure how you went from being his guidance counselor, to fucking him. You never expected it to go beyond that one impulsive hook-up at your birthday party, but it's been two weeks and you have not spent more than two consecutive days without having such relations.

You doubt that he even knew your name, back then, so it makes it slightly less uncomfortable that he calls you Emma. While you don't exactly like it, if he called you Miss Pillsbury, then what you are doing would seem even more wrong. You simply call him Puck, when you need to address him by name. Everyone calls him that, so if you do, too, it's as if you are nobody special. Because you're not, of course.

You don't know how it happened, but you know exactly what is driving you to do this. You were virgin when you started dating Carl. It didn't take long for that to change, because you simply couldn't resist him. Your desires and urges had surprised you, but after a few times in bed with a man like Carl Howell, you could not believe you had gone thirty years without it. A long-term relationship with Carl hadn't worked out, but your chemistry was undeniable. After Carl, no one quite lived up to that standard. Until him.

Obviously, a relationship with Puck would never work, either. It had not even crossed your mind, as an idea. But at least this was better than being lonely. He had everything that Carl left you craving and you were exactly what he was looking for. After all, he wasn't sixteen anymore, so how many older women would he be able to get? You were kind of disgusted when he told you about his sexual antics, as a teenager. It gets you wondering what you would have said to him, had you only reached out a little more, as his guidance counselor. If you had actually managed to get through to him, you certainly wouldn't be in this arrangement with him, now. That realization makes you disgusted with yourself.

This time around, you don't have to kid yourself. You're not holding Puck back from anything—he's not looking for commitment, and he's just going to sleep around, anyway. With Carl, both of you knew you weren't going to end up with each other, so you decided to try and find something real. You hadn't, though, which is why you're with Puck.

At first, you would only meet at hotels. But that got costly and inconvenient. Now, you insist on only spending your time together at his place. You would only ever invite over the few boyfriends you had, and Puck definitely did not qualify. You wouldn't even give him your address, because you know he would try and do something stupid, like surprise you at home. That would be just another added thrill, for him, but you didn't need it. You got your thrills in bed, and then you went home to watch the local news, by yourself.

As a rule, you never stay the night. On a rare occasion, you would stay for a drink, but you almost always left immediately after. It bothers you that he always tries to lay in bed, cuddle even, after mind-blowing sex. You weren't lovers, after all. You were lonely and he was horny. That was all.

It's Friday, after work, and you had gone straight there. It had been a long week, Serena was on vacation, and you just needed to go to someone. There wasn't anybody, though, so you settled for Puck's.

You're lying naked, on your back, on his full-size bed. It's not huge, but you don't really need much room, anyway. His walls are covered with nameless girls from magazine centerfolds. The first time you actually made it to the bedroom, he asked you if you would like him to take them down, but also offered the explanation that he simply appreciated the "photographer's artistic point of view." You didn't need the justification, though. The cut outs were just further evidence of why you were with someone like Puck.

His slick skin is gliding across yours, heating your top side. The cheap, blue cotton of his comforter is gathered around you. You grab fistfuls of it, as he slides down you. A mohawk is not that easy to latch onto, anyway. He's trying something new, and you groan in appreciation. No one has ever worked their tongue _that _meticulously on you.

"Ah, Puck!" You slip. You clamp your eyes shut and shift gears. "Fuck… more, more, more!" Your cries only make him work harder, eagerly even, and suddenly your head is so cloudy that it doesn't even matter who you're with.

By the time he has moved back up and covers your lips with his own, your thighs are still quivering. Until you taste yourself on his tongue, you wonder why he even bothers to kiss you. He shifts besides you, and encircles your waist in his arms, stroking your stomach, softly. Because you hardly think you can stand, at the moment, you let him. Just this once.

* * *

After about a month, you finally start staying the night at his apartment. It's nothing intimate, but you like waking up and putting on his shirt from the night before. You like wandering around the tiny kitchen in your yoga pants, catching him staring at your ass. You like having the allusion of companionship, while being fully aware that it's anything but.

You wake up with your face snuggled against his tight pecks. You're not sure how you got there, so you roll over quickly, eyes wide. Quietly, you creep out of bed and slip into your socks and underwear, and Puck's flannel shirt. You didn't think flannel was really in anymore, but it's comfortable, so what difference should it make, to you?

In the kitchen you put on a pot of coffee and start mixing some pancake batter. You're hungry, so why should you wait to go all the way home first?

You're just pouring the first one onto the griddle, when you feel a pair of arms snake around your waist and receive a low "good morning," whispered in your ear.

"Puck!" You shout, feigning fright, and he backs off. Mission accomplished.

"I'm sorry! What is it?" he says, clearly more startled than you are.

"Nothing, you just… startled me," you lie, turning to face him. "Oh! Would you put some clothes on?"

"But you're wearing them all…" he says, in a mock-whine tone of voice. "Unless you want me to take them off you?" He grabs your hips and draws you in, toying with the buttons on his shirt.

"No, no. Just, um… You have other clothes. Go get dressed," you stutter. You should just succumb to his seduction, because that's what you come here for, after all. But you actually went through the trouble of cooking. And you don't want to set the building on fire, or anything.

"Wait, let me help you first…" he reaches for the spatula, but you swat his hand away.

"No, just—just get dressed and wait. You made breakfast last time." Last time, he brought it to you in bed. You grumbled, quietly, about preferring a proper table setting. When he frowned, you felt a little guilty and told him you appreciated the gesture, but it just wasn't for you. That was not entirely true, though. You should have said, "it's not for us." So, cooking together was not something you were supposed to be doing with Puck.

He sits, patiently and quietly, and you know he's watching your every move. He always looks at you with this kind of admiration. Usually, you just ignore it, because if you don't acknowledge it, then it's not really there. You know there's nothing admirable about you, anyway, just like you know there's no real relationship, here.

You hand him a stack and sit down on the opposite side of the table. You're perfectly content eating in silence. Having the presence of another person is nice, but it's not like you actually have anything to share, besides a bed and a meal.

"They're good," he says, breaking the silence, for a moment.

You look up and can't help but smile appreciatively. You can't deny that you like having him around. Otherwise, why would you keep coming back? Of course, it's all just part of his charm, but he does have a way of making you feel good.

Even though you didn't respond, he continues looking at you, as if a conversation is still taking place.

"What is it?" you ask him, finally.

"We're not doing anything wrong, you know," he states.

That's certainly not true. Guidance counselors are not supposed to sleep with their ex-students. Not ones like yourself, anyway. Then again, you don't know of any other guidance counselors sleeping with their ex-students, so maybe you are a little messed up.

"We don't have to stay holed up in here all the time." He laughs, and you figure he acknowledges the fact that his apartment is not the finest of places. Still, it's your best option. "I want to take you out. Like, for real, you know? How about Breadsticks, tonight?"

"I don't know…" you mutter, focusing on your syrup and avoiding his gaze. Breadsticks is definitely out. It's practically the only nice restaurant in Lima.

"Come on, babe. It'll be fun," he says, putting on that pretty little pout.

You cringe. You hate when he calls you babe. You hate when he calls you anything. Because you're nothing. You're nothing to him and he is nothing to you.

You know you can't go public with Puck. You've only even told Serena that you're seeing someone casually.

"I, um, don't think that's such a good idea… We live in such a small town. We're bound to… We know too many people, here." You shake your head, knowing it's a bad excuse. You know you're not doing anything illegal. Maybe if you were actually dating, it would be different. But you're not. So it isn't worth it.

He looks disappointed and you feel kind of bad. But you're sure he has plenty other girls to take out, so you don't know what the big deal is. Still, you end up promising to make it up to him, by ordering take out and having him come over your condo for dinner, one night. You figure it's a pretty decent compromise, seeing as having him in your home is well outside your comfort zone, anyway.

You leave, without setting a definitive date.

* * *

The next time you're over, you decide to stay and watch a movie. It's been a bad day and you don't feel like returning to your empty condo. Now that you have him, you've been doing that less and less, lately.

You slip into his t-shirt, but leave your underwear off, before making your way to his tiny living room. He puts in "The Ugly Truth" and settles beside you on the couch, wrapping one arm around your shoulder. You purposely writhe uncomfortably, shifting your legs toward him in any way possible, until his fingers are sliding in and out of you and stroking you in all the right places. By the end of the movie, you've forgotten all your loneliness.

As soon as the credits roll, you drag him back to the bedroom and climb on top of him, to finish what has been building up for the past ninety minutes. During your climax, you're calling his name, but your head is far too clouded for you to care. You collapse on his chest, exhausted from not giving your libido a rest, all afternoon. You're still panting, but you run your lips over his glistening pecks, savoring the taste of saltiness mixed with cologne.

He gently cups either side of your face, lifting your gaze to meet his. He tucks your hair behind your ears, stroking it softly, and you're wondering how long he is just going to lay there and smile at you.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

You shut your eyes, tight. Why is he saying this? You know it's not true. And the whole idea complicates things. If he starts bringing that up, it will change everything. And you can't afford to lose what you have.

"No, no. Um, no, you don't." you stutter. "You're not. Because you're not that type of guy. You don't want to settle down. You're going to continue sleeping around. And… and that's okay. Let's not try and make this out to be more than it is, okay?"

He tries to protest, but you're already pulling on your clothes and gathering your things. Because right now, you're feeling more alone than you ever do by yourself.

* * *

You managed to put it off for a couple weeks, but he finally started bothering you about coming over, again. You were hoping he would just forget about it, but he's been down lately, and it doesn't seem fair for you to be happy with the arrangement, if he's not. Although, you're not sure what difference this will make, anyway. He's probably just grown tired of you, and spending a night at your boring condo is not going to help that, any.

Your waiting for your order by the take out station at Breadsticks. You've already seen Ms. Carlisle—the English teacher who refuses to retire—and her new boyfriend, as well as a couple of kids from one of Serena's classes. There's no way you could ever come here, or anywhere in Lima, with Puck. You're more than ready to leave, and hardly ready for Puck to come to your house.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite ex-patient!"

Your head snaps up and your pulse quickens. You'd recognize that voice anywhere. "Carl!" He's waiting, too, and you rush over to hug him.

It's been a while, and you have to admit, it's good to see him. You don't miss your relationship, but you do miss what you had, together. You and Carl were compatible in every way possible. But in the end, you just weren't destined to be together. It was pretty much the same way, now. Only with Puck, you already knew it was just a fling that would never really go anywhere.

"How've you been, Em?" he asks.

"Oh, good. Pretty good. Just busy with work… And turning forty." You mock a gag and he laughs. "So, what are you up to tonight?"

"Just spending a quiet even at home," he tells you.

"Yeah, me too." You lie.

You had been expecting him to tell you he's found someone, but he never mentions it. You weren't going to bring up Puck, anyway.

Of course, your order has to come up, first. Carl has always been a gentlemen and you know he would never point it out, if the amount of food you had weren't so obscene, for one person. You lie, again, and tell him that you wanted to save some for lunch, the next day.

He offers for you to come over and have dinner with him, since you'll both be by yourself, anyway. You say yes. It's not because you can't think of a plausible excuse. After seeing Carl, your original plan for the evening suddenly seems like the last thing you should be doing.

You shoot Puck a quick text, while you wait for Carl to get his order. You're not really breaking a date, because you're not dating. And in that case, you figure, you're not cheating, either.

You're sitting on the floor, eating pasta over Carl's coffee table, and opening a second bottle of wine. You're laughing, as if you haven't been lonely since you ended things with him. In fact, you're laughing as if the relationship had never ended, and you had never gone to Puck, seeking the same satisfaction no other boyfriend was able to give you. You would have been satisfied, staying with Carl. At least he was attainable. You were perfect for each other. You just weren't in love.

None of that ever changed the chemistry between the two of you, however. It's not long before you've created a trail of ripped clothing and torn off buttons, leading to the bedroom.

Puck is younger, stronger, and bigger than Carl, but you hardly have any time to think about that. You are reaching your climax so fast, that you forget what it feels like to think or speak coherently. In your ten years of sexual activity, you don't think you've ever been fucked so hard. You fall asleep, almost immediately after.

Truthfully, it was not the first time you had hooked up with Carl, after ending things. However, it is the first time you're waking up, feeling like you've compromised yourself.

You leave before he wakes up, after writing a quick note, telling him to keep the leftovers. That's all you are, to anyone, anyway, right?

* * *

It's a week, before you can bring yourself to see him. And when you do, you're lying there, sobbing into his lap. He strokes your hair, whispering reassuring nothings, until you manage to choke out the words.

"Why… I don't understand… Why am I not worth it… Worth being loved?" You can't believe you've sunk this low, but you're too upset to care.

"You are worth it. You're worth it to me," he says.

"No!" you declare. And then you ask why, even though you knew not to, and you immediately regret it.

"Because, I've had a crush on you since the ninth grade. And being with you is like a dream come true."

You wipe your tears and sit up. "You can call it a fantasy," you say, with a sudden sharpness in your voice.

"What?" he asks, latching onto your shoulder.

"I know that's all it is. Fucking the innocent guidance counselor from high school, right? And look at me… fooling around with a student," you say, your voice quivering with disgust.

"I'm not in high school, anymore! This is nothing like that. This is…"

"Let's cut the crap, alright?" You cut him off. "We both know exactly what this is. This conversation was a mistake. I… I'm on my period…" you mutter, sniffling.

"No! Agreeing to this kind relationship was a mistake! I kept my mouth shut when I shouldn't have," he says, with more passion than you've ever heard him utter in bed. "I love you, Emma. But I'm not doing this. I want all of you… or nothing."

He walks the ten feet to his bedroom door, slamming it behind him. Your left on the couch with puffy eyes as red as your disheveled hair. You leave, convinced that this is the best thing for the both of you. Because now, only one of you is kidding themselves. You're just not that confident about who it is, anymore.

* * *

Two weeks later, you're standing outside his door. He opens it, and you stare up at his sad face.

"I decided I'm not ready for this to be over," you tell him, as if he doesn't have any say so in the matter.

"Why is that?"

Before he has a chance to make you answer, you throw your legs around his waist and cover his mouth with your own. He carries you to the bedroom, not missing a beat. It's fast and desperate—much like your first time. Because like it was then, you're not sure if this will last.

Not a half hour later, you're standing in his living room, trying to say goodbye, while gauging how permanent this one will be. He's quick to inform you.

"I meant what I said, before. You can't keep coming back here, like this, you know." he tells you.

You shouldn't be surprised. It's not like you ever expected him to stay. "Then why did you let me in?" you can't help but asking.

"Why did you come here, today?" he responds.

You shut your eyes and sigh. You know that you could have gone anywhere else, if all you wanted to do was relieve sexual tension. You know there's more to it, than that. Because this time, you're not chasing after anything. You're just trying not to run away.

"What are you so afraid of?" he asks, as either of you are yet to answer anything.

"Well, I'm… I was afraid of being alone," you stammer.

"And now?"

"Now, I have you. You satisfy me. We have great chemistry. You're perfect for me." You pause, taking a deep breath. "And on top of all that, I'm in love with you."

"Well, I'm in love with you," he says. "And it just so happens, that on top of all that, you satisfy me. We have great chemistry. And you're perfect for me."

There it is. Even when you had everything else, that one thing was always missing, keeping you alone… Until now. Because now, love came first.


End file.
